


lapping at your ankles, bringing you down

by kinpika



Series: BLUE [14]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Liberties taken with Ortega's mods, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, angst but make it sexy, spoilers for retribution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 05:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19996927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: Does Logan hear you? When you press your forehead against hers? When you look into her eyes, your reflection staring back, does she know?





	lapping at your ankles, bringing you down

Arms outstretched. Deep breath, and you let go of the edge. Water taking you, carrying you, as you no longer break the surface. Dipping lower, until your nose disappears too. Hold your breath and close your eyes, hearing nothing and seeing the breaks of light behind your lids. Distorted and for once the world is quiet.

You like the quiet. How you sink towards the bottom of the pool, loose and not aware of your own body. Like your mind is somewhere else entirely, not here, against the tiles. Nice and safe and warm, seven years ago. When things made sense.

The break in the water travels, and you crack an eye open. See the bubbles and watch the perfect dive, towards you. Hover in the water, almost, like she controlled it altogether. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised at what Logan could do. Not when she reaches towards you, and you think there’s a smile on her lips.

But you take her hand, letting yourself be pulled towards the surface. Clean break, flick your hair back and inhale deep. Your lungs ache in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time, and you’re on your toes to stay upright. Fingers skimming the water, flat, not completely committed. Let the water drip down your face, disappearing into the rest.

And then you look up. Watch how she pulls her hair from her face, snapped back with a tie from around her wrist. Logan doesn’t seem to notice how the water distorted the hard orange that marked her skin, or perhaps it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. You trace the lines from her shoulders down, to where they disappear into the void. Lick your lips, drag your eyes away.

You don’t think about it too hard.

Kick your legs up, soft motions through the water to keep yourself afloat. Logan opts to swan off, long strokes back and forth. No need to talk, then. Just watch how orange breaks blue, and how the only red left in her hair was around the ends.

Like a moment plucked out of your thoughts, the ones that you had kept hidden in a box. Locked away. But the complications here you’d never thought possible. Not when Logan is in your orbit, and you reach for her.

Take her by the hand, spin her around. Water helps, soothes you. Ironic, if you think about it. Only you don’t, just pull her close. Movement around you, that is ignored for how she sighs against your lips. Hands on your shoulders, and Logan is cool, fingers tracing up, higher now. Along winding scars and finding ports, base of your neck. Trace your hairline and you let your eyes close.

Let her take control. Little jumps, and even if you were low, barely registering power in the emitters, there’s still baseline reactions. Still the pinpricks of electricity that threaten to boil over, especially in the water. But Logan continues down your spine, fingers splayed. Following every little line and bump until low at your waist. No fear, in how you feel her lips curl, how her teeth pull at your lower lip.

How you look, to see the heated gaze, half lidded, pulling you in. Something to be said, with how her arms return to your shoulders, hopping up for her legs around your waist. Still kissing, tongue tracing yours and you grope and pull with your hands, have to. Find and touch and hold her and god, it’s so hard to think. To walk forward so that the water doesn't shoot up your nose.

Slow and steady. Losing yourself in how she nips and tugs. Traps you between her arms — just the two of you, no one else. Only break when the water was high enough, gathering around her waist now. You can see the wrappings of violent orange, mottled with scars from lifetimes you wouldn’t even know, or maybe understand. Stark and bare and under your hands, lines you had traced a hundred times over, but still found yourself doing so anyway.

Maybe one day, she wouldn’t shiver, and you wouldn’t think this was the last straw. That the fascination and gnawing fear might finally leave, and the pieces would lock in place. But Logan, _Logan_ , distracts and circumvents, tugging at your left ear, trying to get you away. To not look?

You won’t know. And you may as well make peace with that.

The edge isn’t too far, and she drags herself up. You push, too, leaving the pool behind, as you can’t help but follow. Close in, always get your man. Crash your lips against hers in something desperate, never hollow.

Seven years, in how you drag your fingers over her skin. Seven years, in how you move, knees either side, continuing to pull her with you. Mind the tiles and how Logan hisses against your cheek, but your fingers are pulling at her top, and hers disappear in the band of your pants.

You don’t consider that this could be all of it. Those sorts of thoughts cut you up, never to be fixed. That she sighs your name (“ _Ricardo, Ricardo, Ricardo_ ”) and that you don’t exist beyond it. Never a secret, just you two. Those were long gone and buried beneath a headstone with no name.

Now it’s you, scars, tattoos and memories. Arms wound around your neck and her fingers in your hair. Smothering a moan and meeting the roll of her hips. Is it empty? You don’t think so.

Can’t be, with how she burns against you. Shoves your pants down your thighs, and you pull aside her bottoms. Fingers dig into the scarring around your ports, and it’s terrifying. In how it has you arc into her hands, in how you press your teeth into her neck. Nails drag against the skin, pulling you apart, and the world tips, for one whole moment.

Your name is always said in threes. A summon. In how her ankles lock behind your back and you bury your face in her shoulder. Push and thrust and it’s. What is it, really? Trying to kiss, trying to feel. Connect? You want to touch her and hold her and fuck and _love_. That’s all you want.

Does Logan hear you? When you press your forehead against hers? When you look into her eyes, your reflection staring back, does she know?

The words are whispered, swallowed, kissed away. Burn into nothing with how she cries against your lips. If the finish line is passed, it’s a pressure, low in your gut, until it’s gone. Because you’re too wrapped up, orange meeting blue. Disconnect between the lights behind your lids, and how you pull at the tattoos with your teeth.

At some point, you move. Fall to the side. Time for the awkward shift, of clothing being roughly back in place, and acting like nothing had passed at all. Logan breathes, hard and steady, and you watch her chest rise and fall.

How the light still reflects off the water, catching bumps and curves. How your fingers splay over her stomach, over the thickest bundle of scars. Tattoos. Lines and life. She looks at you, like one might appraise a stone, but her expression settles into something familiar and fond, and brings your hand to her lips. Kisses each and every knuckle, before settling back.

You don’t know how you ended up here. On your side, her mirror perfect. Mere centimetres between. Holding her gaze in a way you think is familiar, seven years old. Would Logan remember? Easier to convince yourself that she wouldn’t, that those times were long buried, and that as you brush hair from her eyes, like you had done a dozen times before,

This was all it was going to ever be.


End file.
